Inside a Picture
by Capturedribbons
Summary: Ken works at an old art gallery and he's about to find out that some paintings are more special then others. Later Ken+Omi/Omi+Ken (Retitled! Was 'Pictured' and rating changed just to be safe) **Completed**
1. “His Name Was Omi”

Title- Inside A Picture (Renamed) Chapter One: "His Name Was Omi"  
  
Author- Locura  
  
Warnings- OOC, AU Strange K+O/O+K (possible KxO)  
  
Archive- Fanfiction.net and www.mediaminer.org other then that if you want it you can have it just tell me where it went!  
  
Disclaimer- My paint is non-toxic so even when I accidentally eat some I have no delusions of owning Weiß Kreuz.  
  
Author Notes- *smacks self with a Dictionary repeatedly* I promised myself I wouldn't start another story until I finished one of the others and what do I do? Write another one. . *sigh* at least its a short one this one probably only four parts max. Oh well...Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
Ken walked threw the basement of the art gallery for the hundredth time searching tiredly for the painting his boss just -had- to put up for the new exhibit. The old man, Persia, still went by his art name even after all these years of not painting and had the memory of a goldfish at times it seemed. He had sent Ken down to the basement countless times for various paintings with no artists name or title of the artworks so he had to look threw everything.  
  
By now Ken thought he should know where everything was but even with all the trips down here he could not remember ever seeing the painting Persia had asked for.  
  
A painting of a young boy with blond hair in a hammock.  
  
'Life,' The brown haired boy concluded as he bent down the bottom of the last rack of covered paintings, 'Was just not fair to poor students.'  
  
The stack of canvass diminished quickly as he saw that none of the pictures at present were of a boy in a hammock. Running his fingers threw his chocolate bangs Ken sighed and stood up, the picture Persia wanted had most likely been sold long ago and the old-timer didn't remember selling it.  
  
He ambled to his feet, knocking his knees a bit to dislodge at least a little of the dust from his pants; before slowly walking down the racks of art, his hand trailing over the spines and tops of the covered pieces. He was almost down to the end, which was thankfully close to the stairs and glorious fresh air, when something snagged his hand and he jumped in surprise. There behind a statue of something that looked remarkably like a gargoyle impression of a fellow art student of his was another canvas.  
  
The canvas was fairly large but hidden behind the statue and stuck in a crevice between two racks. How it had got there was anyone's guess but Ken's curiosity won him over and he lugged it from its hiding place. The covering came off fairly easily and he shook his head in amazement as he saw it was in fact the one old man Persia wanted.  
  
Blue eyes peeked out from between the neatly painted roped of the hammock and looked forlornly back at any who chose to peer at him. The background was painted blurrily of trees and bits of light and sky and anything up close had every detail. The way it was painted was amazing, the colors just right and the expression on the painted face was as expressive as any real person.  
  
Jerking himself form his amazed stupor Ken recovered the painting and carried it up the stairs. Maybe he -would- have time to go to the park and play soccer with the kids tonight if he hurried.  
  
Looking around from the top of the stairs the brown eyed boy was not surprised to find that his friend, Yohji, had abandoned his job in favor of flirting with a postal worker who was probably delivering a new piece of art.  
  
"Yohji sign for the package and get back to work, I want to leave early today if its possible." Ken told him dragging the painting as he walked passed the playboy while looking for Persia or his assistant Manx.  
  
He didn't go far before he spotted the red dress and heals that Manx always wore and ambled over to her. "I found the picture Persia wanted."  
  
"Good job Siberian." Ken once again wondered why they gave him a new art name when he came here but pushed the thought away, there were too many strange things about this old art gallery for him to try and figure out and including the owner and the owner's assistant would only open up a new can. "Persia's in his office, he will tell you what to do from there."  
  
"Alright. See you later!" Ken turned to the right and went down the hall before stopping in front of a large oak door and knocked. "Persia, its Siberian."  
  
"Come in, Siberian." The door opened without protest and Ken once again saw the old man that must have been very intimidating in his younger years. His hair, which had been brown, was a light gray and white mix that thinned slightly at the top; wrinkles were permanently etched by his eyes, mouth and forehead and his hands shook ever so slightly when he raised them. He had not aged too much as to lose the commanding air he had from years of working with the government but even he had not been able to age with his mind still young. He often forgot names and dates as easily as complex math problems, which explained why he had an assistant and Yohji and Ken help him around his gallery. "You found the picture."  
  
It was a statement, not a question so Ken nodded and placed it on the desk where wrinkled hands slowly took off the cover and soft blue eyes looked over the canvas.  
  
It was a long moment before Persia spoke again; his hands still tracing the painting, and Ken fidgeted, not sure if he should leave or not. "He used to be happy."  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"He used to be smiling. I shouldn't have let them put him away when I was to busy to work the gallery." The hands stopped there tracing and he smiled up at Ken. "Put him in the new exhibit and make sure there's nothing in front of him. It makes it difficult for him if there is"  
  
"Uh-Yes, Sir." Ken picked up the picture. "Um...what's the paintings name, if I could ask? And the artist? Its not listed."  
  
"His name?" The old man looked lost and lifted a hand to his cheek as he's eyes searched the far wall. "His name was Omi."  
  
***  
  
Persia sighed as he looked at the painting he had made Ken look so hard for. The boy inside was still looking sadly outwards from the hammock ropes and the old man winced. "I'm sorry Omi, I didn't realize what had happened until it happened. And even if I knew at the time it wouldn't have changed anything."  
  
The boys face didn't change quickly but ever so slightly it seemed to lighten.  
  
"But you know that don't you?" He smiled softly at the picture. "And you won't be showing yourself to me, will you my boy? Even after all that."  
  
Of that there was no answer.  
  
The old man chuckled softly before he turned slowly and walked to the doorway, dimming the lights as he went. "No," he whispered. "You found someone else to come out for, haven't you?"  
  
A lighthearted laugh that seemed more of a memory then an actual sound was his only response, as the old man left his art gallery for the night.  
  
***  
  
It had been a few days sense Ken had put that picture up on the wall. And Persia had not said anything more about the boy inside the painting, nor had anyone else commented about how the picture seemed to move slightly every day.  
  
The first time Ken looked at it the boy inside looked very lonely and dejected, but as the days went by the brown haired boy could have sworn that the blue eyed boy slowly looked happier, though there was still a slight hint of sadness lurking in his eyes if Ken looked hard enough at the painting.  
  
But all of that had to be in Ken's head of course, because as he knew no matter how good a painter was there had been no way to paint a moving picture thirty years ago. There still wasn't in fact, but a computerized picture could and this one was clearly not that.  
  
Ken shook his head and put down his heavy book bag, there wasn't ever much for him and Yohji to do on Friday nights but he always came just to make sure. He couldn't help but like the somewhat senile old man and, while Manx wasn't always the most chatty of company, it was a better company then Yohji and his Friday night clubs. Plus if he ended up anywhere else he would have been dragged around way to long, or not long enough, and miss an important soccer game on tv.  
  
"Persia? Manx? Anyone here?" Ken's voice bounced off the walls eerily and Ken felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he walked deeper into the gallery.  
  
The lights were on but no one was home it seemed.  
  
He went to Persia's office and found it empty, all the wings were as empty as tombs, and nothing but the dust bunnies stood guard over the basement. A little confused that Persia and Manx would close up so early and leave the doors open Ken made his way back the front.  
  
'Chalk up to another one of their quirks.' Ken pushed the door.  
  
It didn't move.  
  
He tried again, but once more the door refused to budge.  
  
Ken's eyes widened as he tried pulling the door and it still didn't move.  
  
He was now locked in the art gallery and no one would probably be here until morning, and he had no way out because he didn't know how to lock pick and there were no extra keys made.  
  
'I'm going to miss that soccer game tonight, Brazil verse Mexico.' He sighed and turned around to lean back on the door. 'Maybe someone will figure out I'm here and let me out.'  
  
But even that thought didn't help his spirits, because he knew no one would. Living alone in an apartment made that imposable, unless Yohji got really lonely no one would visit or call.  
  
The brown eyed boy sighed and stood up making his way to the new gallery, as long as he were here he might as well do his homework and look at some completed works of art.  
  
He had been looking at the floor as he walked, the light blue-green carpet was fascinating to someone who found the walls a little less interesting sense they had become so familiar. Only one picture still captivated him, and that was the Hammock boy one.  
  
Ken wouldn't have noticed he wasn't alone probably for a good while except the other occupant was so startled by his reappearance in the gallery he jumped, knocking his head loudly against the cream colored wall before exclaiming a surprised. "Hello!"  
  
Ken jerked his head up from the carpet and stared.  
  
The boy from the painting was standing by the wall, blue eyes wide with disbelief and Ken's sketchbook hanging limply from his hands.  
  
*** 


	2. Admissions

Title- Inside A Picture (Renamed) Chapter Two: Admissions  
  
Author- Locura  
  
Warnings- OOC, AU Strange K+O/O+K (possible KxO)  
  
Archive- Fanfiction.net and www.mediaminer.org other then that if you want it you can have it just tell me where it went!  
  
Disclaimer- My paint is non-toxic so even when I accidentally eat some I have no delusions of owning Weiß Kreuz.  
  
Author Notes- Alright, I changed one or two -little- things in the first part you might have missed. #1 is the most obvious because it's the title. It was called Pictured but it's now renamed. The second is that Aya was eradicated; his part in the story is now much different. Ken, and Yohji don't know Aya yet or at least they aren't friends. Alright! That good? Hope this part worked right, Enjoy!  
  
***= Beginning and End  
  
***  
  
Ken backtracked until he hit the wall, his body tense and eyes wide. "W-what are you doing here?"  
  
The picture boy blinked, now not looking quite as surprised as before, and looked nervous instead, as if unsure how to answer that.  
  
"I got locked in."  
  
"You- got locked in?" The boy nodded. "You got locked in here." He nodded again looking concerned while Ken looked as if he were going to protest or say something else but opted to instead slowly slide down the wall, letting himself calm down remotely and get a clear look at the other boy who was locked in with him.  
  
The boy looked as if he had jumped out of the picture: shotish shorts with dark tipped pockets and a lace up azure shirt (1) adorn his body while expressive blue eyes peered at him past choppy blond bangs. It was too much of a resemblance to be a coincidence but Ken couldn't check the painting to make sure because of his position against wall.  
  
"Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you." The boy left his wall and walked over. "My name is Omi. Sense were both stuck here we might as well know who we are, right?"  
  
Ken shook his head a moment, smiling a little. "I'm Ken."  
  
Omi sat down next to him and silence reined the gallery.  
  
"Hey Omi?" Ken turned and faced the other boy. "How did you get my sketch pad? I could have sworn we should have passed at least once earlier for you to have gotten it out of my backpack."  
  
The blue eyed boy blushed brightly. "I have a tendency to blend in around here. I'm sorry I didn't ask first but I really wanted to see your work. Your very good."  
  
"Its nothing. Just something I try to for fun. What were you doing here anyway?"  
  
"Oh. I was just hanging around, really. I like art a lot." He laughed. "You could say its my life, in a way."  
  
Ken took the sketchpad from his limp hands and opened up to a new sheet. "I have homework to draw something this weekend, mind if its you?"  
  
***  
  
Ken sighed and shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the floor. The other boy, Omi, and him had chatted for hours; all on impersonal things though both of them could tell the other was curious. And threw it all, Ken still didn't know how to ask the question that had been bugging him sense he had laid eyes on blond haired boy.  
  
It wasn't everyday you suspected another boy of jumping out of a painting and seeing that was what he suspected had happened he was seriously questioning his sanity.  
  
But the question of the night was- how did one ask someone if they were magically from a picture and not sound insane.  
  
Ken turned to his side and was about to throw caution, and what he considered good sense, out the window and ask when he felt something cuddle into him.  
  
The lights had been dimmed not to long ago, but there was just enough light for the brown-haired boy to make out Omi's shape. The other boy was curled up next to him, his fists lightly grasping at his shirt and head nestled against his chest. Ken felt his heart soften and he slowly reached up to run his fingers threw the blonds hair, unable to resist the impulse. Omi mewed and blinked sleepily at the touch, but settled back down a moment later having not fully awakened threw the entire incident.  
  
Ken smiled and shook his head. The other boy was too cute for his own good, despite all the secrets he obviously kept.  
  
Promising to himself he'd ask in the morning Ken closed his eyes, a small smile still gracing his lips.  
  
***  
  
Persia stepped out of his car and jingled his keys in one hand. Manx would be in later, at the normal opening time but he wanted to go in early and check on things. Something told him he should check everything out, something was warning him. Warning him of what? Of that he wasn't sure.  
  
He slowly walked to the door, cursing his arthritis silently, and unlocked it. Pushing it open the older man was surprised to find that it didn't squeak.  
  
'Maybe the other boy, Yohji, had finally done his job and oiled the hinges?' He thought as he starting on his way before shaking his head clear and closing the door, now was not a time for those thoughts.  
  
Moving as quietly as possible Persia crept threw the gallery, eyeing every corner and shadow with a quiet suspicion. That Fujimiya character -had- been calling more often about buying the gallery, he might have come and done something to it in the night for not selling it to him.  
  
Persia's heart pounded as he reached the last and newest wing to the gallery. This was it, this would be the place the culprits would be.  
  
Persia was ready for everything, vandalism, a burglar, fire, graffiti. All of it. Everything but to see Omi snuggled up to his employee Ken and for Ken's arms around Omi.  
  
The old-timer gaped and uttered a hushed sound that reverberated off the walls and caused Ken to begin to stir. The boy yawned widely and stretch but didn't move away from the other body next to him.  
  
It took a moment for the boy to notice there was another presence in the room but when he did Ken jumped to his feet and began sputtering explanations and apologies.  
  
Persia shook his head, walked up to the distressed boy, and cupped him on the shoulder. "Its alright Siberian. No harm done. Just remember not to get your self hurt." His gentle hold on his shoulder became a squeeze, though not quiet enough to be painful. "And don't hurt him."  
  
Then Persia was gone, mumbling and tottering off to his office and Six thirty in the morning.  
  
***  
  
Ken blinked at the retreating back of the older man. It was creepy the way he's seem so harmless and scatterbrained at one time and then others he was strong and quick as a whip as he must have been in his earlier years.  
  
Pushing those thoughts away once again Ken turned around, trying to decide weather or not he should go back to sleep or wake Omi up before leaving.  
  
But instead the decision was made for him.  
  
The place were the other boy had been sleeping only moments before was empty. Void of life and amazingly cold, as if no one had been there in the first place.  
  
Startled Ken turned in a circle but no one was there.  
  
There was no way Omi could have gotten past him without him seeing him, but nonetheless the boy from the painting was gone.  
  
Frowning, the brown-haired boy walked determinedly towards the painting which he hadn't had time to look at, at all last night. There it was, like it always was. The boy in the hammock was still laying so he was peeking out from the ropes. There was only one thing different, and Ken wouldn't have noticed it himself if he wasn't so familiar with the painting. Clutched tightly in the boys hands and partially hidden by his body was Ken's sketch book.  
  
***  
  
It was half a week before Ken saw Omi again, but not once threw that time had the boy been totally absent from his thoughts. It had gotten so bad that Yohji was convinced that he had a girl friend and the teachers thought he was trying a new cloud (2).  
  
But Ken couldn't help it. The strange boy the came out of the painting was fascinated him and he was determined to find out more about the boy. But it was more then just amazed fascination of the magic he had inadvertently been apart of that attracted him. It felt like he was being pulled to the gallery everyday, and everyday he met with disappointment when he did not see the blond head and blue eyes of the painting boy outside of the flat impression.  
  
He had denied the thought that he was attracted to Omi for the first few days. The day after that he had admitted it, and today he accepted it. Accepting it was hardest part because how many people could accept the fact that he was attracted to someone of the same sex, and that same boy was part of a painting. For all he knew the boy's personality could only be synthesized into him from the original artists work and he couldn't grow.  
  
'Or,' Ken thought sarcastically to himself as he dusted the basement of the art gallery. 'I could just be losing my mind.'  
  
He bent to pick up a clean rag to clean and something clattered to the ground behind him. Whirling Ken froze. There in front of him was the boy, again seeming to appear out of thin air.  
  
"Hey Ken!" His voice was cheery and he bounced over to where Ken was standing.  
  
"Hey Omi." Ken reached for the sketchpad that was held lightly in the blond boys grasp and he blushed. "What's up?"  
  
"I'm sorry I took your sketch pad again. But I wanted to see you again and...." He fumbled for the words.  
  
"Its alright Omi, no harm done." Ken held his breath a moment before letting out in a whoosh. "Hey Omi? Are you by any chance the boy in the painting? The one in the Hammock, upstairs in the new gallery?"  
  
The blue-eyed boy's shoulders sagged and he stopped meeting Ken's eyes as he sat down on the floor, taking no notice of the dust pile. "N-no! Of course not!"  
  
Ken sat down next to him, mindful of the dust and look at him, it was obvious Omi was lying threw his teeth. "Omi, don't lie to me."  
  
Omi bit his lip and turned his shoulder to Ken before mumbling. "Yes, I am."  
  
Ken put a hand on his shoulder and the other boy started to shrug away but Ken put his hand firmly down. "Its alright Omi. I don't care what your from, it doesn't both me."  
  
Omi turned, his face looking hopeful. "You-you don't? You don't mind that I'm stuck in a picture?"  
  
Ken shook his head. "Why would I? It might be one of the more unusual aspects of you, but your are still you either way."  
  
"Thank you, Ken." His voice was a whisper. "Thank you."  
  
***  
  
1. Random moment time: I know Omi at sometime wears a lace up brown shirt, its the same only blue because if I'm thinking right in a picture he'd blend into to much with the background if it were brown. 2. Its a term for a person who's just started doing drugs, at least were I am. 


	3. “Are you certain?”

Title- Inside A Picture (Renamed) Chapter Three: "Are you certain?"  
  
Author- Locura  
  
Warnings- OOC, AU Strange K+O/O+K (possible KxO)  
  
Archive- Fanfiction.net and www.mediaminer.org other then that if you want it you can have it just tell me where it went!  
  
Disclaimer- My paint is non-toxic so even when I accidentally eat some I have no delusions of owning Weiß Kreuz.  
  
Author Notes- I personally don't like this chapter as much as the others. However I did finally finish it (for all of my laziness). Also on another note there will probably be two more chapters to this instead of the original plan. And for some who have asked, yes, Strings is being working on though slowly b/c of blocks. And on yet another note: there probably will be no more chapters in anything until Friday because of school and the fact my brain wants to explode in gray chunks really badly right now. x.X Anyway, moving on- I hope you Enjoy!  
  
***= Beginning and End and Time changes  
  
***  
  
Persia wouldn't tell him, Omi wouldn't answer his questions, Yohji was still trying to find out who his 'mysterious' girlfriend was and hadn't been enlightened about his newfound sexuality, and Manx either didn't know what was going on or had been sworn to secrecy.  
  
All in all Ken was extremely curious about his friend and no one would tell him more then the tiny tidbits Omi himself dropped.  
  
And as everyone knows curiosity killed the cat.  
  
***  
  
Persia was worried. Fujimiya wouldn't stop calling, but that wasn't the problem. In fact it was normal from various perspectives. He and his father before him had called numerous times through years before; bidding relentlessly at the gallery, trying to blackmail the old man, or promising anything to Persia if he'd just give them the gallery. However, it was all for naught because Persia simple wouldn't sell the old gallery especially to a Fujimiya.  
  
And that had been the pattern up until a month ago.  
  
It started then, when the red-haired boy strolled into the gallery, ignoring Persia and Manx, and purposely going into the not quite open new wing. He had looked over the paintings one by one before stopping in front of the only one without a tag out front.  
  
The Painting of a boy in a hammock.  
  
As the man-boys gaze lingered so had it hardened until only chilly fury remained. He had turned around sharply, his heels clicking loudly together and demanded to know how much it was. To which he was rewarded with the answer was that it wasn't for sale.  
  
"What do you want for this picture?" The boys voice snapped and his cheeks tightened in a cold anger that only he and Persia understood.  
  
"It is not for sale and won't be handed over to a boy such as yourself."  
  
The red-haired man had sneered and frowned again at the picture before walking out the door, his last remark still ringing in the air. "You know as well as I that I will get this picture one way or another."  
  
And that was true.  
  
Sometime they would get the picture, but until then it was Persia's duty to keep him safe. Keep him safe for as long as he could and hope that someone else would be there when he wasn't.  
  
Because the Fujimiya's had tempers, and Aya wasn't an exception. This scene would only result in tragedy.  
  
***  
  
Ken picked up his sketch book and fiddled with it for a moment, knowing that soon a bundle of energy was going to appear and make his evening much more interesting then they were when the other boy didn't have the energy to come out. And he wasn't disappointed because just as one hand lowered to pull at the wire that bound the sketchpad together so had two arms latch on to him from behind.  
  
Smiling Ken turned around and ruffled the blond's hair. "Hey Omi. Whatcha been up to?"  
  
"Nothing much." The other boy reached up tugged on a lock of Ken's hair. "What about you?"  
  
"Oh, you know the normal. School and Yohji thinking you must be my secret girlfriend."  
  
"Tell me about it again?" Omi looked up at him, bright blue eyes meeting chocolate pleadingly. "Tell me what schools like again?"  
  
"Alright, but then you have to answer one of my questions." Ken slumped down underneath the now empty hammock picture. "That's the rules for today."  
  
Omi pouted but sat down in Ken's lap, a motion that had surprised the older boy at first but now become accustomed to. "Fine, but I get to chose which question I answer."  
  
Ken leaned back on the wall and pulled Omi back with him. "Suites me. So what do you want to know about school this time?"  
  
The other boy laid his cheek back on Ken's shirt and sighed, listening to the other boy's heartbeat. "Tell me about the tree's and the people there again?"  
  
***  
  
Aya smiled, his nearly bloodless lips raising the smile into a sneer that stood out starkly on his normally expressionless face. He knew what he could do now. He'd get his revenge. The boy would pay.  
  
All he had to do was enlighten the boy who was obviously so smitten with the one trapped in the picture, a few words dropped and the problems would work themselves out with Aya having to do minimal work. It hadn't even been hard finding the information he needed either, the other boy who worked in the gallery supplied it readily, even if he was a flirt.  
  
Revenge is sweet, though as most know a dish best served cold, and this would be no exception.  
  
***  
  
"Why do you like sitting on me so much?" Ken chose his question carefully knowing that if it had anything to do with the younger boys past he'd clam up and disappear for a few days longer then normal.  
  
Omi closed his eyes and leaned harder against Ken's chest. "I was locked away in the picture alone for over twenty years, Ken. I can't help but love the feel of someone else. It's a very lonely place, the picture."  
  
"Oh." Ken ran his fingers threw the blue-eyed boys hair, now knowing that this relaxed him far better then any thing else he'd tried so far and was the perfect tool to use when about to try a gamboling question. "Omi, why -do- you come out for me and not anyone else anyway?"  
  
Smiling into his friend shirt, Omi relaxed and nearly purred into his friends ministrations. "I like you."  
  
The innocent comment made Ken's hand still for a moment. 'In which way did he mean that?' "You do? Why?" He felt like a kid asking why after every sentence but couldn't keep the question from spilling from his lips.  
  
"I'm sorry for not telling you before, but I like you. Your nice and kind and you don't pressure me too much to know everything about my past." The picture boy sighed and closed his eyes. "You don't hate me for liking you to much, right?"  
  
"O-omi...I-I-" Ken's hands had left Omi's head as he scrambled for words, he'd never thought that the other boy would feel at least something like he felt for him. But in the end Omi didn't give him enough time to answer, he stood up as soon as Ken's hands were removed and looked sadly down at him.  
  
"I'm sorry...I suppose I should go now, shouldn't I?"  
  
"No! Omi wait!" But the words didn't make it to him, because the moment Ken blinked, the picture boy was gone.  
  
***  
  
Ken took a deep drink of cool water from his water bottle, he knew it was better for his system if he drank lukewarm water but this tasted so much better after a just-for-fun scrimmage out in the park. A small game where he could forget his conflicting emotions and Omi's abrupt flight to the picture.  
  
Turning to wave one last time at his soccer partners he turned off into the twilight to make his way home to the apartment, promising himself every step of the way to stop brooding over what he was going to say to Omi the next chance he got. Mulling over it would only make things worse.  
  
He was halfway home when someone suddenly grabbed him from behind and jerked. His arms flung outwards only momentarily delayed and Ken made a move to strike his attacker when the person let go of him abruptly. Slightly confused Ken turned to see if the person were still around and sure enough the boy was right behind him glaring at him with chips of iced violet.  
  
"I believe I have some information you want." His simple words rang in the chilly night air, and Ken shivered.  
  
***  
  
Persia raised his hand to rub his chest again, there seemed to be a sharp pain and heaviness there that hadn't been there before but he'd already dismissed it as being to active these past few days.  
  
***  
  
Aya sat down in the cafe, handing a mug of black coffee over to Ken. "I've heard you've been wondering about a certain picture in Persia's gallery."  
  
***  
  
Slowly he stood and brace himself on his the chair as a wave of vertigo swept over him, the thought that maybe it wasn't just a case of overdoing it hit him but the old man shook his head in denial. He was fine and that was all he needed to it in keeping himself healthy, belief was a powerful thing.  
  
***  
  
"Yeah, I am." Ken stirred in some cream with and took a sip, making a face at how bitter it was. "But why would you know anything about it?"  
  
***  
  
After a moment of rest, Persia was on his way, shuffling towards the door before the pain hit, growing and spreading down his chest, and threw his arms as his body broke out in a cold sweat as his breath went ragged.  
  
***  
  
Aya's eyes flashed towards him for a moment before looking away again, out into the dark night and low clouds that promised rain. "I know about it alright. I know everything about it, including the murderer it houses."  
  
***  
  
Slowly sinking to the floor Persia placed a hand over his heart again, before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.  
  
***  
  
"What do you mean murderer?" Ken placed his mug back down and gripped the hot glass tightly, his knuckles going white. "Omi couldn't kill a fly!"  
  
***  
  
His body shuddered on the ground and head lolled to the side as it stilled. The shadows from the window would be his only company until the picture boy wondered in. (1)  
  
***  
  
Violet eyes rolled to meet chocolate and Aya sneered. "Are you certain, absolutely certain?"  
  
***  
  
(1) Don't kill me if this is wrong, I personally haven't had a heart attack and no one I've known has survived on. I am nearly clueless. 


	4. Listen to me!

Title- Inside A Picture (Renamed) Chapter Four: "Listen to me!"  
  
Author- Locura  
  
Warnings- OOC, AU Strange K+O/O+K (possible KxO)  
  
Archive- Fanfiction.net and www.mediaminer.org other then that if you want it you can have it just tell me where it went!  
  
Disclaimer- My paint is non-toxic so even when I accidentally eat some I have no delusions of owning Weiß Kreuz.  
  
Author Notes- Lets review= I like rain. Rain does not like CD's. Rain does not like fics because ink runs. ^.^; I need to remember that. Oh a warning- This entire story was giving to my brain in full without much thought but I'm having a bit of trouble putting it into words. So, this part might be a bit strange. Anyway, I still hope you Enjoy!  
  
***= Scene Change, beginning and ending *= Flash back  
  
***  
  
Ken raced down the streets, his cloths drenched in the downpour and clinging to him like a second skin. His pulse raced and eyes glowed anxiously in the dim light.  
  
He had to talk to Omi and he had to do it now before he let his mind make itself up without all the facts.  
  
*  
  
"His family killed my Grandparents." The redhead's tone was conversational, as if speaking about the weather. "And he drove my mother to suicide and my sister into running in front of a car." The air grew cold after that as if trying to chill its way into Ken's very soul and the last sentence was icy. "My older sister's (1) been in a comma for around twenty years."  
  
"And it's all his fault, though if I had any guess I would say he'd like her dead instead of the way she is now.a living vegetable."  
  
*  
  
Ken skidded on the wet pavement and almost missed the galleries door in his haste, but snagged it just barley on his fingertips stopping his momentum.  
  
Just one more obstacle before he could straighten this all out.  
  
*  
  
"You think I'm lying." It was a statement not a question and Ken merely nodded. "She's been gone for twenty years. I've had time to accept that death and pain can come from a face so innocent. You haven't accepted the possibility that he's a murderer."  
  
At that Ken's coffee cup fell from his fingers. "I won't believe you. Omi would never do any of the things you've suggested. He -is- innocent!"  
  
The other boy glared at him, his lips pressed in a thin line. "There have been other deaths. My family wasn't the only one hurt. If you don't believe me look it up..." he smirked, "or better yet, ask you lover. I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about it."  
  
*  
  
The halls were empty and the paintings hung hauntingly quiet against the walls. Nothing, from what Ken could tell, was moving. But just by a glance he could see that the Hammock picture was empty. He turned in a circle slowly taking in everything and watching the shadows dance on the walls as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.  
  
Something felt wrong. The gallery was chilled; all of the halls and corridors were icy.  
  
That could have been contributed to the circumstances of the night but the brown-haired boy still peered into every room as cautiously as he could and felt his heart pound with the shadows.  
  
Everything was as empty and as quiet as the last until he reached Persia's room. The door was slightly ajar and light flashed out periodically with the lightning that had started just shy of his first arriving.  
  
Gingerly he pushed at the door, which swung open without a sound to reveal what it kept.  
  
His pulse pounded in his ears as his eyes scanned the room, his mind gradually stopping and not accepting any more information then what he now saw in front of him.  
  
Omi was leaning over someone, his hair obscuring his face and hands over the person's heart. In the brief flashes of light he could make out the subtle shaking of the boys shoulders and how his hands rested at the mans cloths right above his heart.  
  
If it had been any other night, before his conversation with the Fujimiya, Ken's mind wouldn't have jumped to conclusions. But it wasn't and the moment the blue-eyed boy turned towards him, his eyes shimmering with tears Ken felt his heart still into a solid form of lead. The only thought echoing in his mind was how could Omi have killed Persia?  
  
"Ken!" The younger boys cry broke the silence, and he lurched to his feat, reaching towards the boy in the doorway. "What happened to him? Why isn't he moving?"  
  
And Ken watched impassively as Omi reached for him. He couldn't even begin to grasp any words to say.  
  
Aya had said Omi sucked the life out of the people he had known and Persia had acted like he was familiar with him. The picture of Omi leaning over the dead body flashed in his mind. Ken didn't want to believe that the innocent boy reaching for him could do such a thing. But right now there was no other information and his mind accepted what he had fabricated as truth even as his heart ached.  
  
Omi had killed Persia, avertedly or in avertedly and either result was the same.  
  
Ken found himself frowning at the other boy, knowing he was talking yet not hearing the words that spilled from his own mouth. "I should be asking you that shouldn't I Omi? You killed him didn't you?"  
  
"What?" The boy stepped backwards, his eyes taking on a startled doe- like quality. "W-what are you talking about? Have you been talking to someone?"  
  
"What does it matter, Omi? I know all about everything now." His voice was harsh and detached as he made the blunt lie. He didn't know, didn't know everything but he couldn't ask now. "How could you do that to him Omi? He was just a nice old man!" Ken's voice rose sharply. "Why did you kill them?"  
  
The blonds eyes had widened and starred unfocusedly at Ken, his mind whirling as he legs buckled underneath him. "But I didn't. I didn't hurt anyone...."  
  
Ken laughed, its dead tone echoing off the walls. "I've been told everything, you don't need to lie to me anymore." He turned to leave and felt a hand grab his pants leg.  
  
"Please Ken. I didn't kill them. I didn't!" The picture boy's eyes pleaded with his own, but Ken only felt hallow when he looked into those eyes (2). "Listen to me. Please? I love you, please just listen to me!"  
  
Ken shook off the hand and left the room.  
  
***  
  
It had been two days. Two days sense Persia had died and two days sense Ken had seen Omi outside of the painting. Because he did go back. The next day he had rushed back the gallery to try and to apologize, but the boy never came out of the picture, he instead stared sorrowfully back at him from the canvas making Ken's insides twist painfully.  
  
It was still raining. The icy sheets drenching the few people who arrived at the wake, a wake with no body insight and no tears. That was how Persia wanted it though. Just a few people who he knew meeting at his gallery to pay their last respects before his ashes were scattered.  
  
There were five in all or six if you counted Omi, who never left his privet world and only expression leaking threw the picture was anguish.  
  
Yohji had come, his normal shades absent and face serous; Manx was wearing a black version of her normal cloths and offering coffee and tea to the rest, and Aya had come though his damned smirk never left his face. The last, not counting himself, was a tall man with black hair and glasses wearing a light yellow suit. For what reason that man was here no one knew but he quietly glanced at the pictures and politely accepted the tea Manx offered.  
  
The gallery was quiet, except for the shuffle of feat and soon it became apparent that no one else was going to arrive.  
  
The man in the suit turned around and surveyed the people gathered around the room. Clearing his throat he started, his voice calm. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I am here to read Persia's Will. If you all could sit somewhere I will read off the names and what will be left to you."  
  
Everyone stopped for a moment before slowly taking a seat. Yohji was the last one ready, snagging a chair on the wall and flipping it around so that he could sit on it backwards, smiling a slightly forced version of his sleepy grin he asked, "So, what's in this Will of his?"(3)  
  
Which caused Yohji to get a pair of dirty looks before the man in front of them pushed his glasses up with a finger and took a piece of paper from his breast pocket. He cleared his throat one last time before starting to read off the Will in monotone. "The gallery is here by left to Manx in hopes that she will find someone suited to maintain it and keep it as it should be. You have always been my most dedicated employee and I know you understand without me having to tell you how much your working with me has meant. I thank you and hope you have a wonderful life."  
  
"I leave Omi with the person who I have left the hammock picture, please take care of him because he knows not what life is like in this new age. I plead with who is to receive him that you take care of him and protect him from the things that wish him out of existence."  
  
"To Yohji, I leave you a job here whenever you would like one as well as two pieces of art of your choice. You actually oiled the doors so you deserve it."  
  
"To Aya," The redheads head shot up from its half bowed, listless, position. "I leave you nothing. You and your father before you no not how to let go so I hope you will take the time you have now to learn. Everything you believe is only a half truth, find out the entire circumstances and you may grow to understand the steps that have been taken."  
  
"To Ken," His heart pounded. "I leave you the Hammock Picture. Take care of him as I know you will."  
  
Ken swallowed hard and looked over at the picture, which hadn't moved. He now had Omi, the place that held him captive, but how did the other boy feel about him now? Ken had blown up at him, not listened and pushed him away when he was venerable. There was no way Omi would agree to this now.  
  
"This ends my will. The money left will go to charities. My God send you."  
  
The man placed the paper back in his pocket and turned to leave, no one stopped him and no one moved (4). And it was in that moment of hesitation and silence that Aya straightened and looked right at the hammock picture, his gaze cold and detached as he rushed at it a blur of silver glinting in dimmed lighting and the sound of ripping canvas consumed the formally silent room.  
  
There was a thud and a snack and the next anyone knew the picture was on the floor and Aya was stumbling back holding his nose. Ken's fist was still in the air and he blinked as he realized he had moved without thinking about it.  
  
Trembling fingers reached towards the canvas and slowly turned it over. The hammock was empty a tear running vertically down it and not a trace of the boy inside. He thought it was his eyes tearing that started it, the subtle darkening and fading of the colors, but soon he could tell it wasn't. It was fading. The picture was fading. And somewhere someone screamed. A high, pain filled gasp that came from another wing.  
  
Ken wasn't the first one there, but it didn't matter. He could see in the corner of the other gallery the small body that pressed itself away from the concern faces Yohji and Manx.  
  
Shoving them away and ignoring their protests he picked the boy up and ran a hand down his ashen face. His hair and eyes were dull and face as pale as marble. It looked as if he, like the painting, were fading.  
  
The younger boy whimpered and pushed against Ken, a week attempt to push him away but it didn't work. So tears spilled out of lifeless eyes and Ken felt his heart twists and tears fill his own.  
  
"I'm sorry." The voice was fragile and as lifeless as the boy's eyes. "I didn't do it. I'm sorry."  
  
"Shh...Omi. Its alright, just relax we can talk about his later ok?" Ken brushed the blond hair from his eyes. "Just hold on, everything's going to be just fine..."  
  
Omi's lips moved silently as his little body shook violently as a gash appeared on his chest, red blood spilling onto the light blue-green carpet and drenching Ken's cloths.  
  
And then, almost as if it had never happened, Omi disappeared, vanishing into thin air. No blood lingered and no impressions lasting.  
  
It was then that Aya's laughter boomed across the room and Ken fell to his knees, his hands going on either side to brace himself. Yohji and Manx stood frozen on the either side of him, unable to find a comforting word or make sense of what had just occurred in front of them.  
  
But Ken knew. Omi was gone. He never had the chance to apologize and now he never would.  
  
***  
  
1. His sister is now older then him makes more sense for the full story/plot.  
  
2. *sighs* First, I did not write out the entire conversation Ken and Aya had. Second Ken's learned so much this past few hours and now thinks what he was told was right (which it is to some extent) and feels very betrayed by Omi's actions (which really weren't) so his mind's kinda gone blank. He's obviously not thinking, is he? Bad Ken no cookie for you!  
  
3. Look! Yohji said something! .;; he hasn't said anything the entire story so I felt I should let him say something.  
  
4. That would be Crawford, he has basically no part in the story but I needed someone to be the person to read the Will and I thought he'd do it better then say, Farfarello. 


	5. Not Everyone Gets A Happy Ending

Title- Inside A Picture (Renamed) Chapter Five: Not Everyone Gets A Happy Ending  
  
Author- Locura  
  
Warnings- OOC, AU Strange K+O/O+K (possible KxO)  
  
Archive- Fanfiction.net and www.mediaminer.org other then that if you want it you can have it just tell me where it went!  
  
Disclaimer- My paint is non-toxic so even when I accidentally eat some I have no delusions of owning Weiß Kreuz.  
  
Author Notes- I hope everyone Enjoys! This is the last part AND there is a long winded note at the bottom so far warning. Enjoy.  
  
***= Beginning and Ending of fic as well as time changes *= Flash backs starting and finishing of one  
  
***  
  
He didn't know where he was at first. Spinning around in a slow circle and breathing in the chilly air, his first thought was that perhaps he was in heaven. But that thought was quickly discarded. Heaven, he thought, wouldn't have him alone on a darken sidewalk not knowing where he was. He also thought for a time that he might be in Hell, but that too was passed by on the notion that hell would have to be more like the picture then this cold freedom.  
  
He smiled at the sky, the first sky and set of stars he had seen firsthand in over fifty years. To be able to look about and breath in small puffs of smoke was well worth the cold and confusion his mind drugged up. Turning around once more he felt his heart sink and smile wash off his face once more.  
  
How he had not seen such a sign before was a mystery but there it was, the sign to the gallery which had been both his home and prison for half a century. A place with both fond and pain filled memories, to which each haunted him.  
  
A smile formed on his face, sad and whimsical as it was, and he turned. He didn't know where he was to go now, but he couldn't stay there anymore. He had no place to call home now.  
  
***  
  
Ken leaned back on his park bench, half watching the game of young boys and girls in front of him. He'd come here for a distraction but all he found were memories. How one found memories in a place where one who was mourned had never set foot Ken hadn't a clue but that's how it was.  
  
*  
  
"Will you teach me sometime, Ken?" Omi looked imploringly at him, his hands pressed against his ribcage. "Sometime when I can go out? Please?"  
  
*  
  
The cheers of the children forced him form one memory to the next and it was all he could do to not breakdown and cry right there.  
  
And that was how Yohji's compassion found him an hour later.  
  
*  
  
"Ken~!" Omi burst out, his face red with merriment and laughter most of which had been forced from his mouth. "Stop it! Ken!"  
  
"What do you say Omi? Uncle?" Ken smiled down at the other boy, his fingers still busily kneading at the sensitive skin beneath them. "I'm just going to keep going until you cry it you know!"  
  
The blond-haired boy shrieked under the assault and sputtered a response, but the word didn't come for a time. Later, and well after Omi had started to fight back.  
  
*  
  
***  
  
It started to rain again. It seemed to be doing that more and more as the days passed and the gloom, which Ken stayed under, didn't disperse. Yohji knew that it wasn't his friend's fault, what had happened had happened and there was nothing the other boy could do to fix it. But he would be damned if he could think of a way to convince him of that fact.  
  
If Yohji listened to what older people said about such separations he would have sworn that Ken was wasting away like a lovers death. Much like those who had true love did when a spouse or a lover died. Pining for the one they'd lost until nothing was left and they too parted from the earth.  
  
It wasn't that though, that worried the playboy. No, it was Ken's feelings of guilt that caused him to worry for his friend.  
  
Yes, Yohji knew all about what had happened. It had taken a lot of smooth talking on his part and a bit of alcohol but once Ken opened up, the entire story spilled and kept going until there was nothing left but a brokenhearted teen sobbing on his table.  
  
So now Yohji was looking for the said friend before he took it in his head to do something he'd regret later on, if he had the chance that is. And that was how he literally bumped into a ghost.  
  
***  
  
Omi had been walking for so long he wasn't sure where he was any longer. The knowledge of the outside world had stemmed from Ken, but even he couldn't explain everything. His bare feet were scratched and bleeding and his shirt did nothing to fend off the cold and icy rain that had begun not long ago.  
  
Huddling his arms around him for warmth, he ignored the strangely dressed men and women that passed him and unusual devices they were talking into. He was curious (1) about it all but thought it better if he didn't ask or draw attention to himself. Since he used to not be allowed outside of the gallery because of what could happen with all the people out here he figured that avoiding contact would be just as well. He couldn't very well run back into his deathly silent picture home anymore anyway.  
  
He had been avoiding all contact with people and cars pretty well until a tall unusually dressed man in tight fitting cloths ran right into him, the momentum causing him to backtrack before falling onto the sidewalk soaking his cloths.  
  
Looking up the blue-eyed boys eyes widened as he saw that it was in fact the other boy from the gallery. Of all the luck he had run into one of the few people who would recognize him in this day and age. The other man, for all his wacky cloths and colors was polite and offered him a hand and apologized, with Omi looking away as much as possible as to not be recognized.  
  
"Hey Kid. You shouldn't be wondering around these nights without a jacket." The man looked down at him from his sunglasses that had slid to the base of his nose.  
  
"I left it at home." Omi shrugged, his face turned towards the street. "Thank you for helping me up."  
  
Omi had turned to leave and only three steps, however, when a firm grip latched onto his wrist and spun him around.  
  
"Wait a minute kid, I knocked you down and its cold out the-" The other boy stopped to stare a moment. "Hey! You're that boy that disappeared on Ken! Omi, right?"  
  
Reluctantly, Omi nodded.  
  
"You! You have to go see him now!" The grip on his wrist tightened almost painfully. "He's been so depressed...We all thought you had died or something!"  
  
Omi twisted his wrist out of Yohji's grip and backed away telling him softly, "He doesn't want to see me."  
  
Yohji nodded and gestured down the road where a park was. "Yes he does! Or will, once he knows you're not dead. He's been a mess sense you.... sense you vanished."  
  
"Really? He acted so mad the other day..." The blue-eyed boy looked up at the other man from under his lashes. "If your sure?"  
  
Yohji reached blindly in a pocket. "Yes I'm sure! God I need a smoke." Placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it Yohji continued. "He's been blaming himself and depressed all weekend. You've been considered 'dead' for about three days, by the way, and if you don't get your short legs over to where he is I'm going to carry you."  
  
He took a long dreg of his cigarette and Omi shivered. "Fine. But if he doesn't want to see me I'm leaving."  
  
"Good boy." Yohji ruffled his hair and shrugged off his coat, before laying it on Omi's shoulders. "Go get him!"  
  
*  
  
"Please Ken. I didn't kill them. I didn't!" The picture boy's eyes pleaded with his own, but Ken only felt hallow when he looked into those eyes. "Listen to me. Please? I love you, please just listen to me!"  
  
Ken shook off the hand and left the room.  
  
*  
  
***  
  
Ken leaned back and looked at the weeping sky. It was always crying nowadays it seemed, muddying the fields and drenching the already slightly chilled players.  
  
The game had been over for almost an hour now but Ken didn't notice. He was remembering, something he used to never do but now never seemed to stop.  
  
His chocolate colored eyes mirrored the sky once more before looking at the field and he finally had a mind to leave. He was about to stand and walk home when he thought he heard his name, but that of course had been the wind.  
  
He stood and patted off his soaked jacket a moment and the sound came back. A haunting call that came from behind.  
  
Turning, and thinking of knowing without doing so that he was hearing things, Ken peered threw the darkness. There turning round and round in lost confusion was a ghost of a memory. Something he'd never seen, or thought to imagine standing not fifty yards from him.  
  
The picture boy, drenched and wearing Yohji's coat, was wondering around and calling his name.  
  
It was then that instincts took over, instincts that were too slow the first time and the second. Ones that told him to go after the figment and hold him until he disappeared. Lunging, Ken made the fifty feet into ten and managed to lift the smaller boy before the other could react much. But not to say that he didn't struggle, because he did as soon as he realized what had happened.  
  
Omi's small, wet body wiggled and squirmed against his and Ken held him tighter pressing his lips against the blond boys ear. "Shhhh...Omi, its only me..."  
  
"Ken!?" His eyes flew wide as he struggled to make out the face in front of him in the half-light. "I was looking all over for you! The- the other boy at the gallery said you missed me?"  
  
And Ken smiled against the other boy's hair, tears once again sliding from his eyes and mingling with the rainwater. "Yes, Omi. I missed you. I missed you so much." He leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. "I missed you so much. Can you ever forgive me for what and idiot I've been?"  
  
Omi's mouth opened to respond but Ken placed a hand over it, silencing him. "No, I don't deserve your forgiveness for the way I treated you that night." He turned, still holding Omi and began walking towards his apartment. "I deserve any punishment you can think of, Omi. Just don't disappear.."  
  
The last words echoed in the now empty park, a quiet memory that gleamed for them forever.  
  
"I forgave you before you even asked."  
  
***  
  
It was much later that night that found them both warm and happy in Ken's slightly dingy apartment. Both ended up curled together on the bed with a small reading lamp sending a warm glow around the room and Ken's sketchpad between them.  
  
Yohji found them the next morning and it soon became apparent that neither would be letting go anytime soon. And that was how it should be.  
  
***  
  
Some people get their happy endings, some people get only sorrow in return. Don't be afraid to take the chance or let yourself freeze just a moment to long to tell someone how you feel. Because not everyone gets a second chance.  
  
***  
  
1. In the 1950's people dressed a whole lot different then they do today. Girls covered themselves fully for bathing suits etc. Also if you think people back then had cell phones, I'm going to wonder about your mentality.  
  
Long-winded Note-  
  
Well, this is the longest thing I've written by freewill! And the first chapter story finished as well!  
  
I have to say *pokes it with a stick* I'm not the happiest with it but I am proud of myself for finishing the thing. One thing I really must do is thank everyone for reading and hopefully enjoying this story. Your comments mean the world to me and I hope whatever I may end up writing in the future you enjoy as well.  
  
I would do a whole shout out list, but I find that that takes up much space and time while I don't know much else to say but: thank you thank you thank you!  
  
But I do have a special thank you for Lady Cosmos because she is the best. She helped me look over and revise the chapters as well as being ready to beat me up if I didn't get this part done by Friday! So hats off for her!  
  
One last note to add, and I'm adding it here in hopes people get it(though anyone is welcome to skip it) I was planning on moving onto Strings soon after this was finished, then writing a sequel to this (one a little more into Ken and Omi's relationship and giving more information on both sides etc) or perhaps using another one of my ideas(I have plenty). However, I want to try and get into this writing school over where I am. And I have about as much as a chance as I do finding a needle in a haystack, but I'd like to try. Because of that everything will be moved back at least a month while I go threw my Original stories, after such I will contemplate on weather or not to do a sequel while doing Strings and that's that. Also, Starry Starry Night has been discontinued- I'm very sorry but I have nothing else to do with it currently but it may come back much later.  
  
Thanks so much for reading my scribbles!  
  
-Locura 


End file.
